


Of Roses

by vanitaslaughing



Series: The Paths We Walked [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Family Issues, Incorrect Accusations of Heresy and the Troubles This Brings, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-28
Updated: 2016-10-28
Packaged: 2018-08-27 11:24:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8399824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vanitaslaughing/pseuds/vanitaslaughing
Summary: "He's innocent, and you know that! Francel would rather jump down Witchdrop by himself than consult with heretics!"Four siblings, one upcoming trial.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I'm gnawing on the next chapter of Eyes (Un)Seeing pretty hard, mostly because 1) god the lorebook threw me and my plans off a lot 2) my god am I jealous of people who actually have the lorebook, which throws me off even more 3) I don't wanna bother my friends for screenshots like every 5 minutes.
> 
> Chlodebaimt is a royal pain to write, and before I finished this I thought of nicknames the Haillenarte kids woulc call each other, and like. Stephanivien and Laniaitte are pretty clear, Steph and Lani. Francel and Aurvael don't really need a nickname, they're not long.  
> Chlodebaimt, though? Can't be Chlo, that sounds like Klo, which is a pretty casual word for toilet in German and that made me giggle because I'm 5 years old. Deba? Sounds stupid. Eventually I settled on Bai, but damn. No wonder that guy died, I'd actively try dying on the front lines if I had a name like that as well.
> 
> Is 4:30ish in the morning really a time to be writing and uploading fanfiction? Nah, not really. Tedalgrinche's gonna catch these hands on my Stephanivien alt sooner or later.

The reactions from within Ishgard were delayed, naturally. The city walls were ever looming on the horizon, and the discordant blizzard seemingly interrupted the linkshell connection.

By the time his father reached him, Francel had nearly given up on ever hearing anything from his family. Naturally his father sounded subdued, after already having lost countless good servants to these wild heretic trials that wrecked the central highlands recently. To Francel, however, it had been more than clear that eventually he would be found guilty of somesuch, and although Haurchefant and his new adventurer friend apparently tried to find evidence that he was innocent, he would be the next one to inevitably be led to Witchdrop in a trial. There was no saving those that were accused of heresy and led to Witchdrop, and nearly every single person accused of heresy recently had been led to Witchdrop.

There was no way around it, and Francel accepted his fate with silent determination. At least that way the remainders of his family would pull themselves together and work against the accusations before it spread to the other High Houses. It was the duty of a Haillenarte to protect, after all.

Unsurprisingly enough, there was a knock on the door just as he made his choice.

* * *

 

He had no idea that if he really were to die in Witchdrop, it would plunge House Haillenarte into a neverending maelstrom of chaos, with all frustration and fear and hatred and bitterness that had built up over time after Chlodebaimt had perished in the front lines unleashing all at once. It was pretty obvious to anyone within the city walls, however, from the moment they saw the inofficial Skysteel Manufactory Chief storm from Foundation to the Pillars, with thinly veiled fury blazing in his eyes.

Stephanivien de Haillenarte was not someone to slam doors and bellow out a name. He had always been good-humoured and often slightly sarcastic, and his mingling with the lowborn artisans he worked with had opened his mind to people no matter their opinions unless he was being directly insulted, but this time he was positively fuming as he called out for his father.

The fact the man took his sweet time answering or even appearing only poured ceruleum into the flames, and the eldest son stood in that long, empty hallway in Haillenarte Manor with his hands curled into fists and trembling with anger as the sickly sweet scent of roses drifted down the hall. It was so close to the rose garden his mother had always nurtured and loved.

"Will you truly let this stand and not intervene?!"

The count looked exhausted as he shrugged. "The word of a High House whose son is being accused of heresy against an Inquisitor of Ishgard? Do you truly believe they would listen to us and not accuse us of lending a helping hand to heretics as well, thus condemning us all to the same fate?"

"Have you gone completely mad, father!? You would sacrifice Francel to save yourself!?"

His seething rage nearly boiled over when his father sighed and turned around to look down the hallway into the opposite direction.

"He's innocent, and you know that! Francel would rather jump down Witchdrop by himself than consult with heretics! Someone has been trying to paint blood on our walls and blame us for the murder they committed, father, you must see that as well! All these people--"

He could only watch near hopelessly as his father started walking away.

"Coward! At least stand up for him if you even care a little bit about him," he barked after his father. "Well, I won't stay here and just watch as they drop him down Witchdrop! Mother would have never wanted this, and I'm going to stop it and keep him safe, unlike you!"

Stephanivien hurled around as well and marched off. It was clear this man had given up on his younger brother - not that lastborn sons even mattered in this society, but Stephanivien well damn cared. Cared enough to stomp down the way he came, scaring off several new servants (which had replaced the ones accused and convicted of heresy, since broken bodies at the bottom of Witchdrop could no longer work, naturally).

It wasn't very often that he got into a huff like this, but he was completely unable to even remotely comprehend why his father would simply let Francel suffer like this with no support - and the snowstorm had set in again, making it impossible to contact via linkshell.

Thus, he stormed out the manor and past a lot of very confused and faux-offended nobles who could not believe a future Count Haillenarte would march around with such barely concealed anger. Of course they had heard. Of course they believed that the youngest brat of this unkempt lot who did not pursue knighthood like proper children born into the High Houses had ben accused of heresy and a trial was to be held within the next sunrises.

A few more snide voices even said that it would be amusing to see the youngest Haillenarte struggle in a trial by combat, which made Stephanivien inhale sharply as he passed these people by. Of course people would suggest that. They always found trials by combat to be a worthy source of amusement, while not seeing how utterly disgusting it was to toss people who could not properly fend for themselves but still enough to not be able to name a champion into combat against often trained knights. But such was the populace of Ishgard, always eager to root out heretics in their midst.

He had reached Foundation and was nearing the Steps of Faith at last - until someone yanked him aside.

"Oi. If I were you, young lordship, I wouldn't go rushin' out there to defend your brother."

Some machinist, one that apparently skipped Rostnsthal's training regime once he saw his chief stomp out of the Manufactory. Stephanivien simply ripped his arm out of the Brume resident's grip with a low hiss and marched towards the Steps of Faith. Hilda watched him leave before returning to the manufactory in the cold. It was still storming, and the winds howled across the Steps of Faith relentlessly.

Stephanivien was not going to let Francel become another Chlodebaimt, too proud to admit danger and go out there and die a heroic but incredibly stupid death. He had already failed once, he was not going to fail again.

* * *

 

The Sea of Clouds could be so lonely, even if you were in the settlement you were supposed to be looking out for. At this very moment Laniaitte de Haillenarte and most of the Rose Knights were simply not in the mood to fend off the local flora and fauna. Unsurprising, but Laniaitte especially seemed to suffer silently under these news.

Of course, knights were not supposed to show that they wanted to roll up somewhere and cry in fear for the younger brother they were about to lose - not even back when Francel had been kidnapped had she allowed herself to cry. She had believed that Chlodebaimt would be there to save their brother, she had believed he would always be there.  
Haurchefant Greystone had been faster, thankfully.

And Chlodebaimt, who would not allow himself to be outdone by a bastard child no matter how much Francel liked him, grew restless and reckless, until it finally claimed his life as he was trying to play the hero out on the battlefield. All people who survived the battle because of him claimed he died the most heroic death of all, but Laniaitte knew that it had been an extremely stupid way to go - just trying to prove he was better than someone else.

She completely missed that someone was trying to get her attention until the person waved their hand in front of her face. She nearly jumped backwards in shock.

"Shh, Lani. 'Tis just I."

"Aurvael? Shouldn't you be in the Holy See?"

"Yes and no. There was naught to do due to the blizzard, so I requested an airship bound for Camp Cloudtop take me along so I could pay you a visit. Halone knows father and Stephanivien don't do it enough."

He deliberately danced around the name Francel. They both knew that Francel visited at least once a month, and this was the usual time he would arrive on the monthly airship with supplies and stay for a few days before the airship returned to the Holy See. Still, Laniaitte appreciated her older brother coming here despite clearly being busy - she knew him well enough to know when he was lying, and she knew that he was completely and absolutely lying when he said that he had nothing to do. There was always something to do when in the trade business, after all, even with reach as limited as Abalathia's Spine, from Coerthas to the Dravanian Forelands.

"Thank you. Thank you for coming," she breathed out in earnest gratitude, and the heavy cloud on her mind lifted a little. Only Halone could help Francel at this point.

* * *

 

Halone - or a very stubborn Haurchefant Greystone along with an equally stubborn and brave adventurer.

Francel numbly watched as Haurchefant bade the adventurer return to Camp Dragonhead and let the minutes pass by as he sat there at the very edge of Witchdrop. He had been so very prepared to jump to save House Haillenarte's reputation, and now Haurchefant (and the adventurer) had saved his life.

He simply looked down Witchdrop. Gods, he had nearly jumped. He would have broken his neck and every bone in his body down there, dead before he even felt the pain properly. Of course, dying down there would have meant that he had been innocent and that Halone would welcome him with open arms, but still, the mere thought made his blood chill.

The fact it was still storming did not help with the fact he was sitting still, with his face nearly as pale as someone who had died in fear.  
Haurchefant did nothing other than sit down next to him - he knew that once Francel was prepared to go he would get up. For now they simply sat there shoulder to shoulder and stared down Witchdrop, the corpse of the heretic and the blood of the dragon that had escaped behind them.

* * *

 

The adventurer arrived at Camp Dragonhead battered and beaten, but not exactly exhausted. There was always a strange power that seemed to surge through them when they fought such intense battles. Thus, they realised there was a commotion at camp, with several of the people they had spent the last few days with trying to hold back or at least console a man who seemed to be positively enraged. He was certainly tall even for an Elezen, with eeriely familiar facial features. They couldn't put a finger on what struck them as familiar, and thus they decided to see what this noise was all about.

They cringed a little when they saw the Inquisitor at the scene as well.

"Milord," one of the archers tried to soothe the stranger, "please do calm down."

The Elezen man simply hissed through his teeth and shoved her aside - great Oschon, that man certainly managed to look intimidating despite his clear lack of great physical strength. They heard the Inquisitor hiss something about "thrice damned Haillenartes and adventurers" under their breath as he stalked away, and suddenly it struck them where they had seen that man before.

He looked like Francel, the very Ishgardian they had left in the care of Haurchefant half a bell before. Although this man looked a lot more terrifying than gentle and determined Francel. The expression the man wore alone could freeze a dragon in place, most likely, and the people around him seemed to think the same thing. The young maid he had just shoved aside looked rather worried.

"Lord Stephanivien, please! It will be alright, Lord Haurchefant went after them and the Inquisitor was here just mere moments ago!"

"Just let me go to Witchdrop then, I beg of you!" All the anger the man carried seemed to dissolve as his shoulders slumped. "Please, just let me go and see for myself he's still... he's still..."

The adventurer cleared their throat, first quietly and then more loudly to catch the man's attention (they had no idea how to address clearly highly ranekd Ishgardians).  
"If you mean Francel, milord, Lord Haurchefant should bring him to Camp within the bell."

The man (apparently called Stephanivien, judging by the maid's earlier call?) turned around to look at them, his eyes narrowed. They had no idea that these words chilled him to the bone - Haurchefant, set to arrive with him soon? That could just about mean anything, and everyone was extremely vague when talking about Francel. Did that mean that Haurchefant had climbed down Witchdrop to retrieve the body? The very thought terrified Stephanivien, and thus he simply glared at the adventurer.  
They looked like they had been in a serious fight to the death with something - or someone. Not exactly confidence-inspiring, and worry about his younger brother took over again as he started to march past the crowd that also had turned to look at the adventurer.

People started calling out for him to please stop and stay in camp, as the snowstorm was turning into a blizzard again. But Stephanivien would not be swayed, he was worried sick and still furious at his father.

"There is no need to march out there and get yourself killed in a blizzard, Lord Stephanivien."

Haurchefant's voice was exhausted but cheerful as he entered Camp Dragonhead, with Francel de Haillenarte following just slightly behind him, still pale and with wide eyes but unharmed.

The adventurer sighed with relief - that should dissolve tensions a little.

* * *

 

By the time Francel had managed to make Stephanivien return to the Holy See with him the adventurer had uncovered it was a plot by heretics to bring down one of the High Houses of Ishgard, to severe one of the four pillars that had founded and held this city together throughout the Dragonsong War. The eldest and the youngest children of Count Baurendouin de Haillenarte crossed the Steps of Faith in silence, with Stephanivien much more relaxed than the last few days. Francel on the other hand looked rather worried.

Foundation was a surprisingly quiet station of their return to Haillenarte Manor, although the young woman called Hilda who was turning out to be an excellent shot was sulking back towards the Brume with her gun in her hands and a frown on her face until she saw the Manufactory Chief return to the city. Her expression lit up a little as he nodded to her and seemingly answered an unspoken question with it, Francel noticed, and she hurried onwards after that.

The Pillars were less welcoming, at least towards his brother. These chatty nobles that had nothing better to do than skulk about the streets sharing gossip looked at the eldest son of Haillenarte like he was a monster, like he was going to jump on them and rip them apart like a common wyvern. Francel wondered what Stephanivien had done this time to warrant something like this, btu he knew better than to ask. When they arrived at the manor they were caught by Emmanellain de Fortemps who immediately tried to get information about the heretic posing as an Inquisitor, the failed trial at Witchdrop, or even his half-brother and the adventurer's involvement in this whole mess, but Stephanivien simply rolled his eyes and told young Honoroit to take his eager lordling away.

That seemed a little harsh, even for Stephanivien, and Francel finally realised that his brother was dreading to return home. The oldest brother he had was afraid of opening the door. Which meant he had one of his outbursts when he was under extreme emotional stress, most likely to their father whom Stephanivien never seemed to be able to please despite his best efforts, and Francel grabbed his brother's trembling arm.

"It's alright. Father will forgive you - you are the heir to this family, after all, and he respects that and your sometimes extremely stubborn streak enough to understand you do not often think ere you speak."

"Perhaps so. But I called him a coward for not defending you."

"Honestly, I really do think he would respect that even more - we never really called father out on anything like Bai did, especially not after Bai died as he did."

Stephanivien snorted, but his voice was quiet as he continued. "I am quite certain father would prefer if we all went and died like Bai did. Or at least died defending Haillenarte honour with stubborness and pride, as you would have had the adventurer and Lord Haurchefant not intercepted the trial when they did. I could never just... pick up a lance, a sword and shield, or even a bow and walk in and die like that. And father hates it, he hates my weakness."

"Give him time, and he will understand that the best you can do is the workshop and your... machinists, you called them? There is glory dying on the battlefield, yes, but it takes a certain breed of bravery to speak your mind and march out to do what you think is right. Besides," Francel laughed a little as he pushed his brother, "you can feel absolutely feel free to freeze out here and turn into an ice sprite, but I certainly won't and will enter the manor whether you want to or not."

Stephanivien blinked, then snorted. "All right, all right."

They had barely entered the main hall when a yell sounded through it and boots clacked against the stone floor.

"Praise Halone you both are safe! I was near worried sick when father said you had gone and left the Holy See to interrupt the trial on your own!"

Laniaitte, flustered as she was went on a ramblind rant about how she had been worried about them, and Aurvael simply nodded from his seat while continuing his conversation with one of his trade partners via linkshell. Francel laughed and calmed Laniaitte down, but Stephanivien was quietly looking at the other person other than his siblings in this room. It were cold and blank stares he and his father exchanged, at least until Laniaitte finally was calm enough to sit down near Aurvael again.

"..."

"... We're home, father."

"I see."

Stephanivien bowed a little, and much to Francel's distress he backed away a little.

"Alas, I am needed at the workshop. Until later."

Their father said nothing as Stephanivien turned to leave, and Aurvael too excused himself. Laniaitte watched her older brothers leave with a scowl, then hastily bowed to their father as well.

"As much as Ihate to leave Francel after he has just returned, my duty calls me back to the Sea of Clouds sooner rather than later. 'Till we meet again, father, Francel. I sincerely hope 'twill be soon. Oh, and this time leave Emmanellain de Fortemps where he is - he caused more than enough upstir last time."

And thus all his older siblings had left - well, not all, but the portrait of Chlodebaimt was not coming to life nor was it going to welcome him home. Francel awkwardly stared at his feet.

"I..."

And as Aurvael and as Laniaitte knew their father's opinion at this situation much as Stephanivien didn't at this point, their father took a few steps foward and pulled Francel into a long embrace. Count Baurendouin's voice was trembling, something that nearly made Francel cry right there.

"Thank Halone you are safe, Francel."

* * *

 

It would take a while for Stephanivien to learn that his father actually had agreed with being called a coward when he had called the words after him. For the time being, he would run into enough troubly with Skysteel Manufactory, with his father adding to the pile of problems every time they met, from the moment of Francel getting accused of heresy until the day he won in the Tourney thanks to the help of an adventurer.


End file.
